


Hands On The Wheel, Eyes On The Sky

by inlovewithnight



Category: Angel: the Series, due South
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-16
Updated: 2009-11-16
Packaged: 2017-10-03 03:26:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not that anybody had ever asked Gunn what he wanted to do when he grew up, but if they had, he wouldn't have said <i>travel the continent hunting demons with an ex-Mountie, a deaf wolf, and a manifestation of ultimate evil in my head.</i>  Even as a kid, he would've been able to tell that that sucked as a life plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands On The Wheel, Eyes On The Sky

Gunn watched the numbers on the gas pump tick upwards, flicking over in the same rhythm as the blood pounding in his temples. "Don't know if I can get back in the car, man," he muttered, scowling at the grubby digital screen. "If he don't stop talking...if you don't _cool it_..."

"I brought you some coffee, Mr. Gunn."

"Told you not to sneak up on me like that, Fraser," Gunn said once he could breathe again. "We talked about that."

"I wasn't aware that I was sneaking. I was walking normally."

"Your normal walking is too damn quiet, Fraser." He took the coffee and frowned at it. "And I also told you not to call me Mr. Gunn."

"Ah, yes. Charles. My apologies." He took a sip of his own coffee and studied the still-ticking numbers on the pump. "Your truck is a bit of a gas-guzzler, Charles."

"She'll get us where we're going." Gunn patted the side of the truck. "She's saved my life more than once. More times than I can count."

Fraser nodded thoughtfully. "Not through the presence of air bags, I assume."

"Don't be dissing my truck, Fraser. Don't even _start_ dissing the truck."

"Oh, of course not, Charles. I wouldn't dream of it." He looked over at the far edge of the parking lot, where a wolf emerged from a scrubby stand of trees. "So you've decided to join us. Kind of you."

Gunn gritted his teeth against the fresh blossoming of pain in his skull. _I know you don't like him, but why do you have to punish **me** for it?_ "Tell me again why he can't ride back in the bed?"

"Well, it's against the law, Charles." The wolf settled on his haunches next to Fraser and stared coolly at Gunn, setting off a fresh wail of agony in his brain. "And it's not safe."

"He can't like riding around stuffed down in the footwell. You don't like that, do you, Diefenbaker?" The pump clicked off and he squinted at the numbers. Damn gas prices. Well, Wolfram &amp; Hart's blood money might as well go for something useful.

"Oh, he doesn't. At all. He's extremely unhappy, in fact. But at least he's safe."

Gunn's in-skull passenger threw out an image of the wolf flying from the truck bed and getting turned into chunk salsa across the freeway, with considerable glee and approval. He choked back a wave of nausea. "Let's hit the road."  
***  
Not that anybody had ever asked Gunn what he wanted to do when he grew up, but if they had, he wouldn't have said _travel the continent hunting demons with an ex-Mountie, a deaf wolf, and a manifestation of ultimate evil in my head._ Even as a kid, he would've been able to tell that that sucked as a life plan.

Sometimes life didn't offer you a lot of choices, though.

"Are you in pain, Charles?" Fraser asked as he stepped out of the bathroom, hair combed back neatly and pajamas buttoned up as if he was going to work instead of sleep. Gunn was never quite sure why the guy had to put that much effort into going to bed.

"No," he answered finally, blinking up at the ceiling. "What gave you that idea?"

"You were rubbing at your wound." Gunn was lying on his back, his shirt unbuttoned; Fraser indicated the pale snarl of scar tissue on his abdomen. "I thought perhaps it was bothering you."

"Oh. No. I was just...thinking." He frowned down himself at the scar. Ugly damn thing. A reminder. "You've never asked about that. We've been running together for two weeks and you haven't asked for the story."

Fraser sat down on the edge of the other bed. "Well, it's none of my business."

"You're not curious?" Guy did blank-face as well as Angel and on a couple hundred years less practice. Weird as hell. _How do I manage to keep finding these people? Or do they find me?_ "Not even a little?"

"It's none of my business," Fraser repeated with a shrug.

"How about I tell you anyway?" No good reason to do it, other than that if he didn't talk, Fraser would be willing to sit there in absolute silence for the whole damn night and that was just creepy as hell.

"That's your decision." A faint scratching came at the door, and Fraser rose to let Diefenbaker inside. Gunn winced as his headache lit up again. Fraser noticed--Fraser noticed everything. "I'm sorry that you don't care for Dief."

"I don't mind him," Gunn said, grinding his teeth against the ache in his skull. " I don't have a problem with your wolf at all."

"Ah. Yes." Fraser nodded and resumed his seat on the bed. "The panther that lives in your mind doesn't care for Dief."

Gunn looked at him suspiciously, but it would've taken someone a hell of a lot more sensitive and less tired than he was to tell if Fraser was mocking. "Yeah. The big cat doesn't like him at all."

"Dief doesn't dislike you."

"He doesn't _like_ me much, either."

"Well, that's typical of a wolf." Fraser nodded toward Gunn's torso again. "It looks like a stab wound from a small instrument."

"Thought it was none of your business."

"My apologies. You had indicated a willingness to discuss it."

"Yeah, I guess I did." He stared up at the ceiling again. "A friend stabbed me with a scalpel."

Fraser nodded slowly. "He must've had a good reason."

Gunn sat up and glared at him. "You just assume I deserved it?"

"Well, Charles, you didn't sound terribly bitter about it. And you still call him a friend." He raised his eyebrows. "That would seem to indicate that _you_ feel you deserved it."

Gunn kept glaring at him for a long moment. "If you quote an Inuit legend at me, Fraser, I'm going to come over there and--"

Fraser smiled slightly and held up his hands. Gunn flopped back down against the mattress.

"Yeah, I deserved it," he said after a moment. "Deserved worse than that."

"Is that why you're doing this now?" Fraser asked. "Hunting down supernatural evil in hopes of...making up for something in your past?"

Gunn nodded, his jaw aching from being clenched tight. "As soon as I got out of the hospital, I hit the road. I'll never make it right, but I've gotta try." He hesitated and glanced over at Fraser, who was still looking at him with that impassive face. Angel's face, but younger and even less readable around the eyes. "And as for what I'm making up for...that's none of your business."

That slight smile was still on Fraser's lips, serene as church on Sunday. "They say everybody's got something to atone for, Charles."  
***  
For all that he was weird as hell, scary-polite no matter what, and could happily listen to talk radio for a hundred miles at a time, Gunn had to admit that he liked having Fraser along for the hunt. Guy was a hell of a tracker, held his own in a fight, and had some kind of mojo for charming information out of every truck-stop waitress and bored gas-station attendant along the highway.

Sure, he could be a pain in the ass. But most of it was in a kinda-almost-familiar way, like that might've been Angel or, sometimes, Wes over there riding shotgun. That was depressing as hell and comforting at once.

Of course, sometimes he was just a pain in the ass straight-up.

"You know, Charles--"

"If the next words out of your mouth are _the Inuit have a saying_, man, I'm gonna clock you." Gunn slumped back against the side of the truck. "I don't want to hear about whale blubber, or icebergs, or penguins or whatever the hell--"

"There are no penguins native to Canada, Charles." Fraser frowned down at the purple goo coating the edge of his axe. "Penguins are native only to the Southern Hemisphere--it's a common misconception, reinforced by deceptive advertisements showing them with polar bears...is that actually eating _through_ the metal?"

"Probably," Gunn said wearily, looking at his own rapidly-diminishing weapon. "Can't say I give a damn about penguins right now. We've gotta burn that thing before it comes back to life."

"They do that? Do you think fire will take care of it?"

"Lord, I hope so, because otherwise I am fresh out of ideas."

Fraser frowned at the axe again. "Lime, maybe, or hydrochloric acid."

"And where are we gonna get those?"

"Oh, I haven't the foggiest. But they are ideas. And maybe things we should start keeping in the truck."

"You just keep thinking, Butch, that's what you're good at." Gunn tossed the axe handle into the woods.

"It's Benton, actually, not Butch."

"Yeah, I _know_, man," Gunn sighed. "Next town with a video store, you and I have got some work to do."  
***  
Gunn had thought that leaving Wolfram &amp; Hart would snap his freaky-ass connection to the conduit, but instead it came _with_ him. He'd signed a contract and let them into his head, and now he had to live with the consequences.

In this case, the consequences took the form of one incorporeal, surly panther who hated decent music and his traveling partner's wolf. It did have one upside: the thing craved magical energy, good or evil, and did its damnedest to get Gunn to head straight for the strongest source around. It was the easiest way possible to find stuff to kill, without the bother of chasing down rumors and urban legends.

Of course, when they wiped out a dark-energy mother lode instead of letting the panther...do whatever it was the thing wanted to do, it tended to react badly.

"You've already passed the recommended daily allowance of those, Charles," Fraser said as Gunn dumped three more Excedrin into his palm.

"Ain't even making a dent, Benji." He choked them down dry and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes.

"It's Benton." They were the only car for sixty miles either way, Gunn would bet cash money on that, and Fraser still used the turn signal before changing lanes to dodge a pothole. He only got to drive when Gunn was blind from manifestation-of-pure-evil headaches, but that sure as hell didn't mean he took advantage of the chance to go wild.

"I know." Gunn slumped lower in the seat, trying to move his feet under the unhappy weight of Deifenbaker. "Just trying to find a nickname for you, since we spend so damn much time together." He rubbed at his temples. "How about Dudley?"

Fraser looked sideways at him.

"Dudley Do-Right? Cartoon character? He was a Mountie, wasn't he?"

"I'm familiar with the reference, Charles. But I'm also not RCMP anymore, you know."

"Right. My bad." He looked out the window at the rapidly passing fields. "There must be a story there."

"Yes. A long one."

"We've got nothing but miles and nothing on the radio."

Fraser's face didn't twitch--never did--but his hands tightened ever so slightly on the wheel. "It's a bit of a personal story."

"You mean it's none of my business." He smiled bitterly up at the roof of the cab.

"If you prefer."

"Fair is fair, I guess." He stretched his legs without thinking; Diefenbaker's growl of warning made him bend his knees so hastily, he drove them into the glovebox. "You're a man of mystery, Benton Fraser."

"I don't think so, Charles. I understand myself perfectly."

"No one understands themselves perfectly, Fraser."

"Ah. Well, then, at least I'm consistent in my delusions."

Gunn shook his head and closed his eyes. _Jesus, I miss Wesley._ "Just drive, man, all right?"  
***  
It worked into a pretty good pattern after about a month or so on the road. Gunn followed the pull in his head to something worth fighting, and Fraser and Diefenbaker came along for the ride and the kill. Anything near Chicago or within fifty miles of the Canadian border would earn a long quiet moment and a neutral "I'd prefer not to, Charles," but that was cool. No need to push. There was always more evil out there.

Vampires--the only person he'd ever seen talk a vamp to a standstill for staking the way Fraser did was Faith the Slayer. If he hadn't been sharing hotel rooms with the guy, he might've had a few suspicions about him having secret chick-with-superpowers status.

Zombies--not zombie _lawyers_, thankfully, but still the shambling undead. Gunn preferred his undead a little quicker on their feet. Dief seemed to think zombies were a great game; he got to use all kinds of hunting-wolf moves that Fraser evaluated as "out of practice" and "your pack would starve" even as he hacked away at his own opponents.

Gunn slipped the wolf an extra slice of pizza that night, much to the panther and Fraser's disgust, because up to Animal Planet standards or not, that hamstringing move was tight.

On and on, one town to another. Demons, possessions, a dark wizard or two--and one of those was the only time Gunn saw anything get to Fraser at all, the only thing that cracked through the smooth Canadian shell.

Some punk magician had found out that he could get a little extra juice out of blood and pain. He hadn't moved on to humans yet, which to Gunn's way of thinking meant they were still in time. Fraser's face, though, kneeling in the circle of mutilated animals--the tremor in Fraser's hands as he touched the broken bodies--Fraser didn't agree.

"I know they're not as important as a person, Charles," he said without looking up. _Freaky mind-reading thing again. Wish he'd put up some kind of a signal when he'd going to do that._ "All of these together aren't worth a human life. I agree." He stood up slowly, looking down at the bloody symbols in the dirt. Diefenbaker hadn't even come into the clearing, Gunn realized, despite all the meat lying around. "But they didn't deserve this, either. No life should be profaned this way."

"I know, man," Gunn said, stuffing his hands down in his pockets. "Let's find the son of a bitch and introduce him to the righteous, huh?"

Fraser looked at him then, a sad smile over his shoulder. "Deciding that you're one of the righteous is the first step down a dangerous path, Charles."

"Somebody's gotta do it, man. Somebody's gotta help the helpless." _That_ made the panther hiss and snarl, but it felt good, too. "How about instead of worrying about righteous, we just focus on the helping?"

"These are beyond our help." He gestured at the ground again, and Gunn clapped a hand down on his shoulder, drawing him away from the sad little circle.

"Lots of others out there who ain't, yet."  
***  
"I thought you said you'd killed one of these before." Fraser tilted his head to the side and studied the ugly, misshapen body on the ground.

"I did." Gunn slumped back against a tree trunk, swallowing the bile in his throat and wishing his heart would slow down just a little bit before it came busting out of his chest. "But that one had been bound for a couple hundred years. Chumash magicians knew their shit. It wasn't fresh-fed and kicking like that thing."

"We should probably put some disinfectant on that bite." Fraser left the body to come to Gunn's side, frowning at the ragged wound on Gunn's left hand."

"I got bit by a soul-eater, man. I think it's gonna take a little more than hydrogen peroxide." Gunn laughed and thumped his head back against the tree. "We're going to need a witch or a shaman anyway, to purify the ground here. I'm pretty sure you don't want rotting evil junk in your groundwater."

"Probably not." Fraser leaned in and sniffed at the bite. "I think it may already be putrefying."

"Bastard works fast."

"I'm not sure a tourniquet will do much good against a paranormal infection, but it can't hurt." He produced a length of bandage from his pocket, which was so perfectly--absurdly--_Fraser_ that Gunn had to laugh. A lot.

"You're a bit delirious," Fraser noted as he tied off the cloth. "Any idea where we might find a witch or shaman around here?"

"Drive around until I feel like the top of my head's gonna blow off. That oughta do it." Gunn let his head slump to the side and squinted at the body. "Where's your wolf?"

"Under the truck, where he's been the entire time, because he's a terrible coward and--" He gently eased Gunn's arm over his shoulders and began walking him toward the truck. "I am _not_ interested in debating metaphysics with you, Diefenbaker. I have no interest whatsoever in the state or theoretical existence of your soul--or mine, for that matter, and--"

Gunn laughed again as Fraser manipulated him into the passenger seat like a rag doll. "You two, man. Can't remember the post-fight bullshitting being this good since it was just me and Wes and Cordy back in the day."

Fraser patted his shoulder gently. "You just rest now, Charles. I'll take care of everything."

"Know you will," Gunn chuckled again as Dief jumped up into the foot well and licked at his hand. "That's just the kind of guy you are. Not a Champion, somebody who gets stuff _done_."

Fraser smiled slightly and put the truck in gear. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Try to stay awake until I find someone who can keep your arm from falling off."

"Got my back," Gunn mumbled, and passed out.  
***  
"It's an absolutely ridiculous idea." Fraser huffed and turned the key with a bit more force than necessary.

"She seemed pretty sure." Gunn winced at the truck's whine of protest as Fraser threw it into reverse. His fingers twitched inside the thick layer of bandages that kept him from doing the driving. "Easy on the gears, man."

"Well, she was clearly mistaken." Fraser huffed again and eased the truck back out of the driveway. "After all these years, I think I would know if my wolf was actually an avatar of a higher power."

"I think it's a collective, actually. Powers That Be, it's plural..." He trailed off as Fraser looked at him with an expression very close to a glare. "Not important. Right. But it would kind of explain why the panther hates him so much."

Fraser slammed the truck into drive. "Setting aside the imaginary creature in your head's opinion, I just think that an avatar would be _much_ better at cleaning up after himself and significantly less fond of cheeseburgers."

"I never try to figure out the Powers, Fraser. That'll drive you nuts. Ask my friend Wesley." He frowned again at his bandaged hand--the local witch, in between blowing Diefenbaker's cover, had drained the poison and assured him that there wouldn't be any long-term damage. But it was swollen as hell and would be useless for days, which meant he was stuck riding shotgun. "I should call him, see how things are going in LA."

"Is Wesley the one who stabbed you?" Fraser was probably the only guy on earth who could ask that question and have it sound neutral.

"Yeah." He hesitated for a minute. _To hell with it_. "Since you found the witch and saved my life, I guess I owe you the rest of that story."

"You don't owe me anything, Charles. That's what partners are for."

"Yeah, but partners shouldn't have secrets from each other. Unless, you know, they want to. Like yours. But I don't want to...not tell you anymore."

Fraser nodded and turned the headlights on. "Well, that's entirely up to you, Charles."

"I got somebody killed." He stared out the windshield at the fading sunset. "Well. I've got a lot of people killed, over the years. Friends and strangers and..." He broke off, swallowing hard. _Alonna_. "But this one, it wasn't an accident or part of the mission. This one was me being selfish, and careless. And she was a friend, and I should've known better. I should've been more careful."

Fraser was quiet for a moment, his hands steady on the wheel. "I'm sorry, Charles."

"Yeah, well." He closed his eyes and rested his unbandaged hand over them. "That's what I've got to live with. That's what I've got to atone for."

"I also lost a dear friend." His eyes were still fixed on something at the horizon. "A very dear friend."

"That's why you're out here fighting the ugly, dead, and scaly?"

"No. That's why I don't have a place to go back to." He shook his head slightly, breaking his fixed gaze out the windshield. "Fighting...things, that's just a way to pass the time."

Gunn let his hand fall back to the seat and studied Fraser for a moment. "Well, Fraser, I'm glad to have you along for the ride."

The faintest hint of a smile curved Fraser's lips. "Thank you, Charles. Thank you kindly."  
***  
They were in the middle of the New Mexico desert, somewhere between Santa Fe and the Colorado border, when the panther shrieked and disappeared. Gunn drove the truck off the road and into a ditch, too stunned by the sudden empty space in his head to steer.

Fraser being Fraser, he held off on the stupid questions until they had the wheels back on the pavement again, or about half an hour of sweat and cursing later.

"I don't know, man, the cat just went poof." Gunn pounded his hand against the door, staring out the window. Fraser had insisted on driving this next stretch, and Gunn was too wound up to object. "Something must've happened back at Evil Incorporated. We've got to go to LA."

"Maybe you should call first" was the neutral suggestion, even as he was shifting the truck over to merge westbound.

Gunn dialed every Wolfram &amp; Hart contact number he had, without an answer. "Something bad's gone down," he said finally, tossing the phone down on the dashboard. "Look, Fraser, this could be real ugly. And it's got nothing to do with you. So if you just want to drop me off in the city, and you and Dief head north...I'll understand."

Fraser shrugged. "As I've said, Charles, Dief and I don't have anywhere in particular to go. Besides, if you're heading into trouble...well, I've got your back." He hesitated, then added "Bro?"

Gunn found himself grinning, despite the uneasiness in his gut. "Thanks, man. I was hoping you'd say that. "

"Of course."

"Oh, and Fraser? You can't say 'bro.' Ever."

"All right, Charles."

"All right. Let's go kick some evil ass."


End file.
